


Prompt 15.5 (Ryland/MC/Magnus)

by Yoselin



Series: L&L Tumblr Prompts [17]
Category: Love & Legends (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 05:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: Continuation to Prompt 15.Originally posted to Tumblr. Name used here is Hope.Warnings for violence and death.





	Prompt 15.5 (Ryland/MC/Magnus)

Warnings for graphic violence and death. Name used is Hope.   
This has not been proofread. I apologize.   
——  
When Magnus sees me in the green dress I have chosen, there’s a flicker of shock and displeasure on his face for half a millisecond before its gone. The impassive and aloof mask falls across his face once more and he sends me a piercing glare promising an extensive questioning later. I ignore this and plaster the ever-so-perfect-and-sweet wife persona on my face as the greetings go underway.   
Greeting the Generals is never hard. To them, I am just the bejeweled little plaything that Magnus drapes across his arm like a trophy. I have no mind of my own nor anything intelligent to say. Their gaze sweeps right over me in disregard when I mumble a timid “Blessed be the Queen” as a greeting.   
The meeting passes by relatively quickly. The air is electrified with anticipation and excitement. Today, with Ryland and his crew dying, the resistance is quelled once and for all.   
Everyone is so eager to go to the wooded clearing and watch the last hope this world has swing on a rope that the greetings are over within moments.   
Even when the Witch Queen appears, an incarnation of frost and evil, she breezes right past me without the usual snide look or disgusted quirk of her lip. Like her Generals, she is excited to get this over with. Magnus and the others might parade her around like a goddess in the flesh, but she was as scared about the resistance as anyone else.   
I take a deep breath as we file in rank to the courtyard. No one says a word, silence drags heavy across the crowd, and the atmosphere is incredibly tense.   
The wooded clearing Magnus has selected has been prepared for this occasion. There are rows of chairs at the very front for the Generals and a large white throne carved out of crystal and made to look like ice, the Queen’s. I don’t spot a seat for me at the front and give Magnus and inquisitive look.   
He appraises me coldly out of the corner of his eye and nods to another row of seats further away. This row is for the nobility of high enough importance to be present for the execution but not important enough to sit by the Generals.   
I breathe a sigh of relief. Although this has been done on purpose, Magnus has purposefully slighted me this way before the Generals to prove that I am nothing except his property, I am relieved all the same to be far away from him. Today’s execution will be bad enough without Magnus or anyone else seeing just how much it will affect me.   
I take my seat on a chair and press my hands against my lap. My nails dig into the fabric of the dark green dress I have worn. In the eternal night we are in, the sun blotted out by the Queen, it looks black. The universal color of mourning.   
I bite my lip.   
The prisoners and Ryland are not out yet. There is a large stage set up for this purpose and a large wooden structure to serve as the gallows, but there are only guards milling about tightening the rope.   
I grind my teeth together and feel the beginnings of a headache begin to pound.   
I should have feigned feeling ill, should have told Magnus I needed to stay in the palace and recover. Being here for such a terrible event sets me on edge. I don’t want to see the last chance I have of freedom die.   
I don’t want to see Ryland die.   
I press my fingers to my face and debate on whether or not to run up and tell Magnus I am feeling under the weather, even though it’ll probably earn me a savage beating later, when the event finally begins.   
The Queen rises to her feet gracefully and walks to the front of the crowd. Her face is arrogant, frigid like the dark morning, and she stalks with the purpose of a predator.   
I’ve met her before, spoken to her on occasion even, yet she still terrifies me. She reminds me of the dwarven mountains. Tall, imposing, and hostile.   
Just as she reaches the front of the crowd, the clinking of chains reaches my ears. I suppress my gasp as I see the prisoners arrive.   
There’s 9 of them now, four have died since their capture, and Ryland is at the back of the procession. The men’s faces are cold, unexpressive, but still heavily resigned. They’ve accepted their fate long ago yet still fear it all the same.   
The Queen watches each of them arrive and waits until they’ve stepped on the stage. Then, she clasps her hands before her, and tilts her chin arrogantly. When she speaks, she addresses the resistance.   
“Gentlemen, how lovely it is to see you.”  
Her voice echoes against the clearing and carries through. It is commanding, mocking, and powerful. I feel a shiver run down my spine at the cold and humorless way she delivers her joke.   
A chuckle and a snort follow her words from the Generals but everyone else, the nobility, soldiers, and I, bite our tongues. The Queen inspires fear in her wake and today she is the most terrifying thing I have ever seen.   
The prisoners do not react to her taunt. Every single man in the file keeps their eyes staring forward and their jaw clenched. Ryland, at the very end of the line, raises his chin defiantly and is the perfect epitome of composure.   
In that moment, I am in awe of him.   
Standing before the Witch Queen, moments away from being strung up with the rest of his men, he remains resilient. The Legends we’ve heard of him, the stories that say that he is a hero that fights with a passion that no one has ever seen before, speaks like an impassioned preacher, and walks with the power and grace of a king, are true in that moment. He reminds me of Theramis, the demonic hero my mother would read me stories of. Like him, he is a myth in the flesh.   
If the Witch Queen is frigid frost’s incarnation, he is burning fire come to life.   
The Witch Queen raises her chin in arrogance and offers a smile colder than a tundra. She inches towards the stage and raises her hand to Ryland’s face. Her fingers brush his chin and raise it further.   
“Do you have nothing to say, Captain Goldhart? The stories about you praise your legendary oration skills. Come, deliver a speech about fighting and victory,” she hums.   
Ryland does not take the bait. He remains unfazed and impassive.   
The Witch Queen clicks her tongue and retreats. When she speaks next, she is addressing us. Her face is schooled into something powerful and confident.   
“These men before you have committed the highest treason. They have slayed your fighters, taken your lands, and betrayed your Queen. Would anyone like to plead on their behalf?”  
It is a mocking question. No one is suicidal enough to defend those that the Witch Queen has already sentenced.   
I bite the inside of my cheek and risk another glance at Ryland. He stares impassively at the crowd that has already deemed him guilty and does not give away his emotions.   
I take the time to analyze his face carefully. I memorize every feature of it that I can and ache to draw him. Once upon a time, drawing had been my hobby, now I simply sketch in my mind.   
Feeling his gaze on me, he moves his eyes slightly in my direction. When he sees me wearing dark green and not teal, there is almost a flicker of something in his gaze. Approval and gratefulness shine in his eyes for a millisecond before his emotionless mask shrouds him once more. He looks away and continues staring forward almost as if the moment between us had never existed.   
I release a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding and dig my nails further into the fabric of my dress. Turning my attention back to the Queen, I try to calm myself down.   
We can not look at each other, we can not recognize one another. There is no reason for the lady of the palace and the leader of the resistance to know each other.   
The Queen nods at a guard and the guard tugs on the execution rope a few times to make sure it is sturdy. When this is done, the Queen raises her chin and the first prisoner is walked to the gallows.   
She repeats the man’s name, spits it out like it tastes bitter, and crosses her arms before her.   
“You have been sentenced to death for your treason by a council of your peers, however, I am a merciful Queen. Renounce the Resistance and pledge your loyalty to me. You shall live and be forgiven. Will you accept my offer?” She has the audacity to make her voice sound soft, tilt her head to one side like a sweet child, and extend her hand.   
The prisoner all but spits at her, “Death to the Witch Queen.”  
I almost smile but catch myself in time. A murmur of disgust and fear ripples through the crowd and I see General Richter‘s hand move for his weapon. The Witch Queen spots him and a piercing glare moments later makes him sit down again. She looks unfazed at the insult and sighs loudly.   
“A shame, you were offered a chance.” She nods at the executioner and the stool is kicked off.   
There is a terrible moment where the prisoner struggles in his rope. He makes sounds at the back of his throat and resists weakly before he finally dies.   
I feel like throwing up and the crowd around me tenses. However, the remaining prisoners and Ryland remain a pillar of strength. If the execution has frightened them, they don’t show it.   
The corpse is removed from the rope and the next man is brought forward. The Witch Queen gives him a second chance, he spits out an insult at her, and he is hung. The line then continues.   
This cycle repeats over and over again. No rebel takes her offer, one even calls her a “frigid bitch from the pits of hell”, and all are hung.   
All the while, Ryland remains strong and unflinching. His gaze remains staring forward, his hands remain clenched at his sides, and his face remains aloof. If the death of his men affect him, and I am sure they do, he does not show it.   
Finally, the part I was dreading arrives.   
The air suddenly becomes much more tense and electrifying. The Generals sit up straighter and the Queen’s mouth twists into a terrible smirk that will haunt my nightmares from now on.   
The line of prisoners is reduced to one person. Ryland. He alone is left as the mountain of corpses grows higher.   
It is his turn.   
He is walked to the gallows and the rope is tied around his neck. I see the fibers cutting his throat from my place at the back. I ache for him in that moment and my fingers begin to shake.   
This is the moment everyone except me has been waiting for. The excitement in the clearing is suddenly palpable. I feel like gagging but manage to reel in my emotions.  
The Queen places her fingers on her lips, tilts her head to the side, and hums a tune underneath her breath.   
“Alas, the Resistance has ended. Come, Captain Goldhart, have you any words to mark this occasion? The Legends about you say that your speeches rival Lennox’s words. Go on, say something.”  
Silence.   
Ryland, ever stoic, refuses to take her bait. He stands straight as a rod and clasps his hands behind his back. The noose tied around his neck leaves red imprints on his skin and digs painfully into his flesh, yet he pays it no mind. He is like the marble statue of a god in that moment. Tall, regal, and unafraid.   
After all, what is a Queen to a god?  
The Queen makes a sound at the back of her throat, inches closer and presses her fingers to his jaw. “A pity, I looked forward to hearing your words. Your stories alone have turned thousands against me. I wanted to see if you were worth an ounce of that respect.”  
She moves away with a look of disgust and gives him her back. Despite this, she isn’t done tormenting him. She raises her chin in arrogance and crosses her arms before her. When she speaks next, she addresses the crowd but her words are sharpened blades against Ryland.   
“Thus, the Resistance ends, yes? The last pathetic attempt at spreading dissent against a United world is shattered. All those that have fought in its name shall scatter like the wind. It’s own leader shall be buried in a mass grave along with the pitiful men he sentenced to death. Captain Goldhart advocated for domestic terrorism and treason, yet he didn’t even flinch when his men died for his lies. Now what does that make him?” She presses her hand to her chest in false pity. “A true leader feels for their people. A true leader fights to the bitter end to help their fighters. And a true leader does not die in the gallows because he surrendered when life became difficult. You, Captain Goldhart, are no leader. There are Legends about you, myths that surround you and promote you as the next Theramis, yet you are nothing more than a coward. A coward you were under the false lord, and a coward you will die today before your true Queen. Come, my dear, look upon the bodies of those who served you. Memorize their faces and the markings against their necks. Carry those images with you to the afterlife. May their ghosts haunt you and torment you once you follow them.”  
She walks away from Ryland, and nods her chin at the guard. The guard on the stage rises to his feet and stalks to Ryland.   
My breath hitches in my throat and I dig my nails into my palms until I feel blood. This is it. This is how hope dies. It is strangled before a crowd of vultures.   
I keep my face impassive as the rope is tightened ever more on Ryland’s neck. Ryland raises his chin defiantly and glares at the sunless sky.   
For a man about to die, he looks brave.   
As the guard readies to drop the lever beneath the stage and have Ryland swing, Ryland opens his mouth.   
“You asked me to speak, your Majesty? Fine.”  
His words echo against the square and the Queen freezes as she readies herself to sit upon her throne. Her eyebrow raises up, hands freeze on her armrests, and she crosses one leg over the other. With a look of amusement, she rolls her fingers in a ‘go on’ motion and a twisted smirk paints her features.   
Ryland clenches his jaw and raises his gaze. His eyes burn like vivid flames and he takes each of us in. His gaze sees me, lingers on me for half a second longer than the rest, before he moves on. It takes him a second to find his words, but when he does, his voice comes out strong and commanding.   
“You speak of what a ruler is, yet you know nothing aside from a tantrum. The old king rejected you because you were inadequate so you turned against him. The old lords rejected your rule so you slaughtered them. The old world fought you so you destroyed it. Your throne is made of ice because water has rejected you and fire deems you unworthy. Your crown is false and your powers are pitiful. You might have magic at your disposal, but spells are nothing compared to loyalty. Your Generals follow you because they are twisted in their own right, but give them an opportunity and they would flee too. You are nothing but a pretender to a throne. A child throwing a tantrum because she cannot have what she wants. You speak of leadership, yet you are a coward who hides behind magic rather than face the world head on. Ice, my Queen, melts in the sun. Is that why you hid it from view? Did you hide the sun so that it may never melt your frozen Kingdom? Or perhaps did you hide it because the light shows you how weak you are? Even now, so sure you will win, you hide behind pitiful attempts to discredit the Resistance rather than fight me head on. I stand here before the corpses of my men because I let you take me. Had I not surrendered, you would still be after me. You won because I let you, but you will lose out of your own merits without any assistance. You are nothing but a cowardly, scorned woman who had her heart broken and sought to break the world rather than tough it out. A spoiled child you were before, and a rotten pretender you are now. The world does not tremble before you, my Queen, it merely waits for your destruction. My men have died today, not because you won, but because they gave their lives to defeat you. If you believe you have won today, you are as foolish as Lord Reiner portrayed you.”  
His words echo against the clearing and Ryland squares his jaw. The Queen’s mouth is open into something that resembles shock. Had her skin not been white before, it would have drained of color. Whatever she had expected him to say, it had not been this.   
But Ryland isn’t done.   
He moves just slightly, as far as his noose will allow, and addresses the crowd.   
“You in this audience are here not to see me dead but merely to keep yourselves from suffering my fate. You came because you were summoned by the Witch Queen, not because you believed in her blasphemy. Her words are poison, and you only listen because poison kills you slower than a noose. You do not follow her, you fear her. Fear is a powerful, powerful thing, but it is not what makes Empires. Empires are forged from bravery and hope. Fear has no place asides from the destruction of tyranny. Thus, I ask each of you to assess yourselves. You have a chance to see things right. You may sit there wrapped in finery and jewels and watch what is left of hope die, or you may rise up and take your story back. When my Lord died years ago, he bid me to fight until the day this Kingdom was freed. Now, I bid you the same. I beg you to choose between being puppets to a false Queen whose regime will melt when the sun casts its rays over her, or becoming the heroes your children will be proud to to hear about in fables. The Resistance does not die with me, nor does it die with my men. The Resistance is alive and it breathes and it fights. My death, whenever it shall arrive, will only be a small price to pay.”  
Ryland turns to the With Queen again and his mouth twists into a smirk. He raises his shackled arms before him like he is praying.   
“You told me to speak, your highness? Well, I have said my piece. Now, I call upon your people to think about their loyalties and ask themselves how much they are willing to sacrifice in exchange for a better world. The Resistance does not die with me, my Queen. The Resistance cannot be killed by a simple noose. My men wished for your death, and as a leader I will see it through. You speak of leaders and values, yet you forget one key piece. A true leader wins the loyalty of their Kingdom through honor and fight, it does not steal it through threats and conquest. Fear is a powerful thing, my Queen, you have chosen to rule through it. But, beware. Fear is a powerful tool, but it is also what sentences tyrants to their death. If you wish to rule through an emotion, rule by hope. Hope is what forges heroes and defeats villains. But, more than that, hope is what will see your regime end. You will die by the sword you raised against this world. And I will be the one to swing the blade.”  
Ryland stops then, lets his words sink into the stunned Queen and Generals, before jumping. At first I think he is jumping to his death to keep the Queen from getting the satisfaction of hanging him-  
But then I see the guard’s blade. The guard that had previously been poised to hang him swings his sword and cuts the noose. The chord falls away from Ryland’s neck and he dives for the crowd.   
A flurry of motion happens all at once. The Generals rise with their weapons and scream orders to apprehend Ryland, but Ryland sidesteps them. He weaves past their lines and dives blindly for the clearing. Arrows wheeze past him and spells almost singe him, yet he presses on.   
He makes it to the edge of the clearing before the ground begins to rumble.   
I stand from my seat, shake as I see the world rumble and roar, and then freeze. Tens and tens of troops emerge from the trees and rush at the Witch Queen’s army. They wear colors of different armies, brandish different weapons, and fight alongside different races.   
They are the Resistance. 

It is utter chaos as the clearing turns into a battlefield. The Resistance is outnumbered drastically, yet they fight with everything they have. The Generals stick to the Queen and the With Queen’s spells are flung in every direction with no calculation or precision. Either Ryland’s words have affected her, or the shock of the surprise attack has ruined her fighting abilities. Either way, this battle will not be so easily won.   
I slip away from the crowd and run for an edge of the clearing. This distraction, this battle, is the perfect opportunity. Escape is never within reach, but this fight puts it close.   
Magnus can easily track me down, the ring on his finger can detect mine, but with his focus on the fight, I may be able to get ahead of him.   
I dive for the clearing and manage to make it several hundred yards before someone’s arms wrap around me.   
At first I think I’ve been apprehended, nearly scream with the pain of freedom so quickly killed, before I smell the familiar scent of pine and sweat.   
“Ryland,” I breathe out the name under my breath and my heart hammers against my chest. I whirl around and all but force him into my embrace.   
Ryland wraps his arms around me and tugs me with him as he runs. His grip is strong and protective.   
“You made it out,” he pants, “I was worried you would get lost in the chaos. I ordered my men to help you out but it seems you ran before they could get to you. Are you hurt?”  
He throws me a concerned glance as he runs.   
I blink up at him, shake as I run, and process his words. When they register in my mind, I let out a breath of air.   
“How?”  
The question is all I can get out. Between running from the Witch Queen and my own thoughts, my brain can hardly make words.   
Ryland pulls me closer to him and guides me down another narrow path of trees. The woods provide cover for us as we run.   
“You insult me, my ivory princess. Did you truly believe I would let the Witch Queen win? I devoted my life to seeing her fall, I would not die when her own death looms so close.”  
“But how?! All of the Generals were present, you were outnumbered. Your men-“  
At the mention of his men, Ryland winces. It’s a brief reaction but there all the same. I wonder for the first time if perhaps reinforcements were late. Perhaps he was not meant to escape alone.   
Ryland holds my hand tightly as we run and turns his head just slightly so that our eyes meet.   
In his gaze, I see fire. It burns bright and scorches me from head to toe. I was right earlier in my observation. The Witch Queen is winter come alive, but Ryland is fire in the flesh.   
“The Witch Queen should be more careful with who she hires. Her ever-loyal soldiers are tired of her regime. You would be surprised to see just how many of her guards wear my colors in secret.”  
With that final word, Ryland tugs me forward again and we pick up the pace.

Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the threat resting on my finger. Perhaps, had I realized just how powerful that little band is, I would have realized my mistake sooner.   
We are a couple of hours away from the palace when Magnus’ lands end. His woods come to a close and Ryland hurries me past the land division of trees and shrubs. He flies past it with no difficulty-  
But I ram into it.   
An invisible wall keeps me from advancing further and the ring on my finger burns hot against my flesh. I let out a loose cry as the ring scorches the skin and tightens. I skid back into Magnus’ territory and dig my nails under the ring in vain if only to serve as a shield for my skin from the burning metal.   
Ryland spins back around, sees the way the ring lights up, and hisses a curse under his breath. He comes back into the land division and takes my hand in his. His callused fingers turn my hand every which way as he analyzes the ring.   
“General Klein made a failsafe. She enchanted it so that you would not be able to run past the palace grounds,” he murmurs.   
I grind my teeth in pain as he prods at the burned skin. The ring has cooled now, sensing that I am no longer pressed against the barrier, yet my injury has not healed on its own. Another failsafe from Helena, perhaps? A way for Magnus to know if I had tried to escape.   
I shudder and feel the familiar feeling of despair and helplessness. It settles around me like a shackle and I nearly bend underneath it. Breathing becomes difficult but I manage somehow.  
I was an idiot for thinking I could escape. Ryland had filled me with speeches of hope and liberty, but Magnus had brought me back to reality.   
I shuffle away from Ryland and press my hand tightly closed in a way to curve the pain. “You have to run. Your Resistance was outnumbered, the battle will end soon. If you have a hideout, go before the Witch Queen realizes you are gone. I will distract Magnus for however long I am capable.”  
Which will not be a very long time once he sees the burning mark against my skin. He will know what I tried to do and his wrath will terrify the gods.   
Ryland clenches his jaw firmly and stands his ground. Flames of determination ignite in his gaze and he gives a slight shake of his head.   
“No. I told you I’d see you free. This isn’t the end. You have magic, surely, you told me you could make fire in your palm. Can you take away Klein’s enchantment?”   
I bite back a laugh and shake my head. My fingers curl around the ring and I let my magic ignite. It sparks for a second, gives a weak light, and then dies away. The ring pulses and tightens even more until I clench my teeth to keep from screaming. When it senses that it’s warning has served its purpose, the ring loosens a fraction and settles back against my skin like a chain.   
I stretch out my hand and let the light reflect from the surface of it. “Another failsafe. When the Witch Queen conquered, she killed all those with magic. She wanted to be a magic practitioner alone and was only willing to share that pride with Klein. All those with strong magic were slaughtered in her wake, and those of us with weak magic were ‘disabled’. Helena enchanted my ring so that I could never use my own magic for longer than a second. I’ve tried to disenchant it, tried it until it’s almost hacked off my finger, but it never works.”  
Ryland takes my hand again and turns it so that he can see the ring better.   
“Try again,” his voice is almost shaking.   
Like me, he knows there is no hope. For a man that prides himself in never giving up, even he knows when something is impossible.   
“The ring alerts Magnus to whatever happens. When my ring hurts me, his pulses and lets him know something is amiss. It probably jumped on his hand when I crashed into the barrier, and it will beat like crazy if I try to remove it. He may be distracted in the battle now, but he will realize what is happening when his hand begins to vibrate. His ring can kill me, make it so that I turn to ash, and I have no desire to do that just yet. So, no, there is no point in trying. I am stuck here, but you can go. There is still time.”  
I give him a light shove which is akin to pushing on a wall. He doesn’t budge an inch. Rather, his jaw tightens further and he shakes his head.   
“Not without you. There has to be some other way.”  
I make a sound at the back of my throat and clench my hand. “I have tried everything, Ryland. Nothing has ever worked. Go. Now.”  
I turn away from him to put a barrier between us. Thoughts of returning back to Magnus make me sick, especially with the telltale burn against my finger which signifies my attempted escape, but I have to. There is no hope for my escape.   
I ready myself to walk away, try to bring myself to take that dreaded first step, but Ryland beats me again. He comes up so that he is beside me and takes my hand in his.   
The determination is back in his eyes, but it is accompanied by something more.   
Worry.   
Whatever plan he has, he is worried it will not come out well.   
“You never tried one thing, Hope. It may be your only chance at escaping.” His hands are shaking. I read his plan in his eyes before he has a chance to voice it.   
I take a sharp deep breath and reflexively clench my hand into a fist to protect the ring.   
“It’ll kill me. Helena would have planned for it too. It won’t work,” I take a step back.   
He takes a step forward. His hand goes for his coat pocket where a dagger rests-something he stole from a soldier by the looks of the hilt. He holds it in the center of his palm as if to show me that he will not act if my consent is not given.   
“There is no other option, my ivory princess. You said it yourself, you have tried everything else. What will happen when Magnus sees your finger? What will he do to you when he realizes you tried to run?”  
He takes a step forward. I clasp my other hand over the ring protectively and clench my jaw.   
“He will kill me. He’s hurt me for a lot less.” I wince at the memories of cells and bruises.   
Ryland nods and presses closer.   
“This could be your only chance. I asked everyone over there what they were willing to give. What are you willing to give, my Princess?”  
He takes my hand in his and gently pries off my fingers. I tremble, feel the fear as it hammers against my rib cage, and look away.   
This is suicide. This is madness.   
This is hope.   
I take a deep breath and flinch when he extends my hand.   
“ **Trust me.** ”   
His plea is barely a whisper yet it washes over me all the same. It crashes against me like a tsunami and chases away the fear. The Legends speak of a powerful orator who could convince anyone to take his side. They are not wrong.   
Shaking although I am, I raise my head. My eyes meet his, that fire of hope and promise still burning like a wildfire, and nod.   
“Do it,” I hiss.   
Ryland gives me a look, nods his head grimly, and swings the dagger down. 

And just like that, I am free. 

When we step past the barrier then, half dazed from pain and blood, there is no invisible wall blocking me from leaving.   
I lean against Ryland, let out a breathless laugh, and turn to him.   
“Where?”   
A single word but one I never thought I’d say.   
Trapped in that palace, there was never a ‘where’ besides Magnus.   
Ryland supports my weight, gives me a half smile that almost illuminates the dark morning, and nods forward.   
“The Resistance. We aren’t done yet.”  
With that answer, he guides me forward and away from my ivory prison.


End file.
